


Papercut

by lutece



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lutece/pseuds/lutece
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maxson discovers his partner's true loyalties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Papercut

**Author's Note:**

> just a drabble that breaks me

She’d seen him at both his worst and his best. She’d seen him tremble and cower pitifully as the effects of all those bottles of whiskey wracked his body and reverted him back to a soft little boy as his mother had thought coldly of him, and she’d seen him, other times, commanding troops so confidently, ruffling squires’ hair, inspiring devotion in their sparkling, untainted and young eyes like no other man in the Commonwealth could. She’d seen his raw anger in the form of those same whiskey bottles shattered against the wall or the on the floor when he just couldn’t take the empty feelings anymore; she’d seen his anger in disciplining subordinates that spoke out of turn, that brought up his age and affiliated it with obvious inexperience.

This was different in so many ways. She’d never experienced his anger directed at  _her_ , and only her.

Elder Maxson tried to appear cold with his back turned halfway to her, but his eyes were alight with wrath and betrayed his attempt at indifference. “You’re an enemy of the Brotherhood,” he said, subduing his tone, or trying to. “You’re an enemy of everything I have ever worked for—you’re an enemy of every single person aboard this ship that I am responsible for. You’re a liability. You’re a traitor, just like Danse. All this time…” He scoffed, turning his head to fixate himself on Boston’s skyline. “All this time you were coming and going as you pleased to the Institute, working for them, lying straight to my face…”

Carmen stood, straight-backed, with her fists clenched as he dictated to her, like a stern and upset father; it was strange to have him treat her like this, when before, before she had become so entrenched in the adult Shaun’s life, he viewed her as some sort of revered maternal goddess. She had gone father than displeasing him—what she had done was relationship-ending, soul-crushing.

It had been the right thing to do, though. Nails digging into her scraped palms from so much fighting, she worked up the nerve to spit out, “Arthur. It wasn’t my intention for things to turn out this way. How could I have known? I never—”

“You  _knew_!” Maxson roared, and he raised his hand accusingly, turning on his feet to fixate himself on her. He had broken his calm disposition and she couldn’t even blame him for the fire in his eyes. She couldn’t even feel like a victim as she shrunk before his stature, felt tears prick at her eyes. The guilt was searing, bottomless, and yet…

“I did,” she confessed. Her cheeks started to become wet already. “Yes, I knew. That… That my son is…”

“The  _Director_  of the fucking  _Institute_?” Maxson sneered. He rubbed at his forehead, before his wrath seeped out again: “This isn’t solely about the Brotherhood, either. This isn’t just betrayal of our work, it’s, it’s betrayal to  _me_. I allowed you on my ship when you were a stranger to me, I—I brought you into my bed! I told you everything about our missions and strategies, everything about—myself! And you… You were content to let the Institure run their course this entire time. From the very first—”

Carmen stayed silent. There were a dozen phrases burning in her throat that she couldn’t bring herself to say, because they would be wrong.  _I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t mean to, I want to be with you, I did wrong, you’re right, I need you—_

“I would do anything for my son,” was all she could choke out. Her cheeks were reddened and her eyes were low, kept at the ground; she didn’t even want to look at his boots. “Anything. Even if he is old. Even if he is my enemy. Anything.”

There was a pause, then he came thundering forward. Maxson’s large, gloved hands grabbed at her chin, her cheeks, jerking her head up so her gaze was forced to meet his intense one. They were both full of emotion, holding back words they couldn’t say. He pressed their bodies together, knocking her back a few steps, one arm steeling around her waist, tight and desperate even as he berated her.

He kissed her, hard. “Tell me you don’t love me,” he demanded, hoarse against her mouth. Carmen looked at him, mouth open, not knowing how to respond. “Spare me the pain, Carmen. Just say it.”

“Arthur—”

“Say it!” he growled, and as his grip tightened even more, he kissed her again.

She shook her head, took his scarred and scratchy face into her own hands, and kept him close, though her every instinct told her to shove him off and run before he would her do the honours. “I can’t,” she stuttered, breath against his, faces so close. “I can’t.”

He was all wildfire, mouth twisted into a snarl. “Why?” he demanded again.

“Because,” she started, leaving a pause for a dry sob, “then I would be lying.”

Maxson shoved her away himself, and had some loyal Knights escort her from his sight for now.


End file.
